


The best part is falling

by hazelandglasz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, I Love You, M/M, Webcams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 16:13:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1272865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>teen wolf future!fic/au </p><p>    in which stiles decides the best way to confess his love to derek is from 1000 miles away with a video message sent to derek’s email.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The best part is falling

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this gifset :http://fucklinski.tumblr.com/post/76689909865/teen-wolf-future-fic-au-in-which-stiles-decides

All he needs is to walk away.  
If he puts some distance between him and this Godforsaken town, Stiles thinks that he has a chance to get over the whole experience.

The whole traumatic experience of a-thinking that he was going to die the way his mother did, b-being possessed by a very “playful” Japanese spirit and c-defeating said spirit by dying for a minute.

Even if it was only a minute, Stiles is a bit … yeah, traumatized.

So he packs his things and goes to college on the other side of the world. Ok, only to London, but still.

He likes it here; he likes that for most people, his quirky sense of humor doesn’t make him a weirdo, but only amplifies his “americanity”.  
The food is awesome, the people are great, and there is no obvious supernatural thingy going on.  
And yet.  
And yet Stiles would give all of it to have his pack back.  
Oh, he Skypes with Scott and Lydia at least once a week, and he calls his dad 3 times a week, and he sends postcards to all of them – the more ridiculous the better.  
But it’s not just the same – damn them, even if he’s not a wolf he’s still Pack and he misses them?

He misses …  
In the darkness of his room next to Black Friar station, Stiles can admit it to himself.  
He misses Derek.  
No, he’s not just missing him – he has come to realize that his feelings are bounds away from just caring and respecting the older man.

He loves him.  
Not in a bro way, though there is some broness between them, but in a love you with blushing face and sparkly eyes way.  
The thing is, Stiles can’t bring himself to say it over the phone, and for more than one reason. The most important one, though, is the fact that he knows how many emotions his face gives away when he’s being sincere and shit – the phone wouldn’t translate that, and his handwriting is too shitty to deserve being used for a love letter.  
His eyes find his webcam, lying on the table, and a crazy idea crosses his mind.

The good kind of crazy, shut up.

—-

Derek doesn’t sleep very well these days.

One would think that by now, he’s used to all the violence that surrounded the end of the Senior year of his pack, but one should just shut up.  
He is used to it, but he didn’t expect Stiles to just run away.  
Ok, there is a line of contact between them all, but still, the fucking Ocean? Really?

Anyway, it’s not like —  
Derek gulps around the knot in his throat as his brain refuses to tell the lie he’s been telling himself for the past months.  
It IS like he has feelings for the brilliant idiot, and Derek is man enough to admit it (when he’s alone and blanketed by the night).

His train of thoughts is derailed by his e-mail pinging aggressively in the darkness.  
“What,” he growls at the machine as he scans the screen, and there it is, his heart relocates in his throat.

“You have one message.  
From : a.m.stilinski@ac.uk”

Derek wonders if he should read it – it’s 10pm for him, must be around 6am for Stiles.  
What good could come from a mail sent at 6am?  
But Derek is a curious man, and he wants to get what he can of what Stiles is willing to give.

As he opens the mail, he realizes that it’s a video – the masochist part of him whispers that it’s even better : he’ll see Stiles, see how well the young man is healing, how right he was to put some distance between them.

“Heey”, Stiles drawls, and even if he does look a little tired, he looks … he looks wonderful and healthy. There is something in his eyes, something that is not due to his shitty webcam – something Derek can’t name properly and it annoys him.  
“I wanted to tell you something that I realized not too long ago – that is, that I accepted to realize not too long ago, I probably knew for longer than that,” Stiles says and it’s so very like him to go on a tangent that Derek huffs a laugh.  
“I – I’m sorry I can’t be there to say this in person,” Stiles says, looking directly in the camera now, and Derek refrains himself from touching the screen (too cliché, even for him). “Let’s be honest though,” Stiles adds with a self-depreciating raise of an eyebrow, “I wouldn’t be saying this if I was there.”

He clears his throat and Derek kind of wants to nudge him to make him more comfortable and just say it.  
“I just want to say,” Stiles says, and if the camera is not lying to him, Derek can see a blush forming on the bridge of his nose and spreading, “that I – uh, I love you.”  
A beat passes, and Derek feels dizzy, and then Stiles groans. “God this was stupid I’m sorry, I just wanted you to know, I guess. Good night, Derek,” he concludes, a sad smile on his face as he leans forward to turn the camera off, leaving Derek with a black screen and a thousand questions.

“What.”

—-

Stiles is spending the entire day beating himself up, and no amount of French fries dipped in mushy peas and vinegar can make him feel better.

He’s an idiot; Capital I.

How is he supposed to face Derek, whenever he goes back to Beacon Hills ?

Ah, maybe that’s the solution : become of a citizen of Her Majesty and never, ever ever, go back.  
He’ll look into it when he’s back ho-oooooooooh my God, what the ever living fuck?

What is a sleepy but very much awake Derek doing on the bench in front of his building?  
That, or Derek has a European doppelganger.

Stiles starts walking away – a sudden craving for a muffin and anywhere but here – when Derek calls his name. “Alojzy Mordka Stiles Stilinski!”  
That’s a low blow, and he looks over his shoulder with dark eyes until he remembers that the Nogi loved to look at his prey this way, and he turns to face his fate.

“Say it,” Derek tells him after taking the couple of meters that separated them in two long strides.  
Stiles is confused, and it must show on his face.  
“Say it in person,” Derek develops and Stiles wants to be swallowed by a London visiting Nessie monster or anything please.  
“What’s the point?” he asks, furiously blushing. There is a part of his brain that says that Derek wouldn’t have flown over just to make fun of him to his face, but he’s stomping on it as hard as he can.

Derek takes one more step and cups his face – oh God he’s so warm, and his hands smell like airports and forests blend together. “So I can say it back.”

“Oh.”

“Oh.” Derek echoes, a small, timid, vulnerable smile stretching his lips before he dips his head. “Indeed.”


End file.
